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by epifania



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Ace spectrum character, Caryl, Demisexual Character, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epifania/pseuds/epifania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time he thinks about kissing her, he’s startled, and to be completely honest feels kind of guilty."</p><p>On the progression of Daryl's feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





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The first time he thinks about kissing her, he’s startled, and to be completely honest feels kind of guilty. After all she’s just lost her child and has plenty of other things to worry about. Hell, he’s not in a good place too. He fucked up, failed miserably, didn’t manage to bring the little girl back to her mother. He should be mourning – well, he is, but he is also wondering what it would feel like to kiss her and he feels like a complete asshole for such a thought even crossing his mind. So he fights it, focuses on other things instead – like the overbearing self-hatred and anger – and eventually it passes.

The second time is not that much later. She clings to him on his brother’s Triumph, and as they flee from the overrun farm he can’t help but wonder if they are the only ones left. They could make it, he thinks. He could teach her how to fight and protect herself – he will, no matter what, he promises himself - and maybe, just maybe, after some time she’d grow so used to his presence that she’d let him kiss her, taste her, touch – he has to stop himself right there, because she taps his shoulder and he too notices the lights of everyone else’s vehicles, and because there is no way in hell a good woman like her would want a stupid hick like him.

The third time is much, much later. Lori’s dead, and T-Dog’s dead, and he thinks she is dead too. But she isn’t. She endures, she’s a fighter deep down, just as he’d always known her to be. It would take much more to break her than a few days with no food and water. She’s so petite in his arms, and fits there so perfectly – like she was made to be just there. A small part of him, that annoying little voice at the back of his head which sounds alarmingly similar to Merle, tells him that it would be so easy to bend down and taste her lips. He’s focused on other things then though, like getting her back to safety and making damn sure that, as tough as he believes she is, her natural ability to survive is never put to the test again.

After that, he doesn’t even bother to fight these thoughts anymore. Kissing turns into more, so much more, and he spends many sleepless nights in his cot, trying to imagine what she tastes, sounds and feels like. He’s terrified at first – he was never really into these things. Sure, there were a few occasional one night stands, but he never really enjoyed them. He has never really wanted a woman like he wants her. Hundreds and thousands of ‘stay safe’s and ‘nine lives’ pass between them, and with each he feels the want grow stronger, and he realizes it’s not even about attraction. It’s the sole thought of being away from her, of losing her, or of her suffering in any way, that makes his heart ache almost physically.

He loves her, he realizes one chilly morning when she climbs up the watch tower with two cups of steaming coffee and sits down to keep him company during the last few hours of his watch duty. For the first time in his miserable life he actually, truly loves.

He wants to tell her, but he has no idea how. And, deep inside, that annoying Merle-like voice keeps whispering that despite all they’ve been through together, she could never see him as anything else than a stupid hick.

Then everything goes to shit. The illness happens, and the Governor happens, and Terminus happens. He loses her again. He doesn’t think she’s dead, oh no. He knows better now. If somebody asked him, he wouldn’t hesitate to say that she’s going to be the last one standing in this poor excuse of a world they live in. But he has no hope left that he’ll ever see again. He focuses on other things, on Beth, on the Claimers, on Rick and his kids. Nothing feels quite right anymore, but he fights tooth and nail to keep from thinking about the dull ache in his heart.

So when he sees her there, standing tall and proud between the trees, fearless, but at the same time wary and reluctant, it feels like life was brought back to his dead body. He runs to her, pulls her as close as he can (it’s still not close enough), lifts her of the ground, not giving shit that everyone is staring at them. The only thing that matters is that she’s back, she’s here and she’s real and he says her name over and over again to ensure himself that this isn’t some sort of a cruel dream from which he’ll wake up any moment. And when he pulls away – after what feels like eternity, but still is not nearly long enough – and she puts her small hands on his face, and he drops his head to her neck –makes him think of the old knights bowing before their ladies in those kids’ books he used to read when he was little –he feels whole again. He wants to tell her right there and then, but as he looks into her blue eyes filled with so much love and understanding it dawns on him that he doesn’t need to. She knows, he realizes, has knows all along, and as she gives him a watery smile he can’t help but think, “I’m finally home.”

**Author's Note:**

> i forgot about this.
> 
> (written for tumblr's carylers secret santa)


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